*Ba-ruch a-ta A-do-nai, E-lo-hei-nu....*

   Putting the *chumash* back into the center of the menorah, Blair finished reciting the Hannukah blessing.  He shut his eyes, screwing them tight like a small child, and tried hard to see his mom in his mind.  Somewhere, and not even Blair was sure where, Naomi was doing the same thing:  lighting the candles and thinking of him.  With all his heart, he reached for the image in his mind - waiting, waiting, waiting, hoping for that fleeting sensation of contact.

   Many years ago, the first time Naomi had chosen to leave him on his own during the holidays, she had suggested this ritual.  Her intent was to help Blair feel close to her, and it often did.  But this time.... he sighed, opening his eyes and catching sight of himself and the candle light mirrored in the glass of the balcony doors.   The reflection was of one man, standing alone, in someone else's home, with a cheap tin menorah holding the candles for this first night of Hannukah.   The sight saddened him, and, as flames flickered, he turned away.

   Tomorrow he would try again.  Maybe there would be a small remembrance in the mail from his mom, (it could be anything from a Christmas card to a crystal for purification at Winter Solstice - the actual holiday didn't matter to Naomi.)  It might put him more in the mood for the season, though.  Between the end of the semester rush, and the extra load at the station, he hadn't exactly felt festive.  The excesses of the occasion, and of the people observing it were almost as wearing, too.   In fact, he mostly just wished it was January already, and the whole month of December was part of the safely out of the way past.

   With an effort, he put his mind back on the stack of final exams sitting on the table waiting to be graded.  He'd make a pot of tea and settle in for a night of grading.  Luckily Jim wasn't due home for hours, yet; plenty of time to make a dent and earn a break.  Maybe he'd be able to share a brew and part of a game on the tube.   Cheered, he filled the kettle and put it on, then reached in the fridge for milk.

   And drew out a small net bag filled with foil covered chocolate coins.  Turning it over in his hands, a silly grin began to grow.  There was a bag of *gelt* in his fridge!   How Jim had managed to get it in without him seeing it?  He must have snuck back to the loft after leaving for the station this morning.  Peeling the foil off one of the pieces, he nibbled on it, while fixing his tea.

   Still carrying his prize, he bopped over to the table and sat.  His movement in the room made candle light dance through and in the glass of the doors again, and this time the trembling flames illuminated a smile on the lone occupant of the room.
 
 

*...Melech Ha-Olam Kidvanshnu.....*

   Holding the small Shoshoni medicine bag in his fist, Blair let the last sounds of the prayer fade from his mind.  Through the leather, he could feel the slippery texture of the polished jasper in it.  The note from Naomi said the jasper was for strength, and the spider carved on it was for creativity.  It had arrived in the mail, just today, and Blair could almost imagine a waft of Naomi's perfume coming from the talisman.  He'd have to ask Jim if *he* smelled it.

   He let the thought go, processed it away, and meticulously built the image of his mom.  As he had on the previous two nights, he reached and found nothing.  Disappointed, he let the bag drop, to swing from the leather thong around his neck.  Steeling himself, he opened his eyes, and was surprised to see the reflection of his roommie in the balacony doors.  Jim was standing behind him, an encouraging smile in place.

   Typically, Jim hadn't made a fuss either over Blair's Hannukah observation or over the upcoming Christmas one.  But, mysteriously, his old tin menorah had been replaced by one made of Arizona sandstone the second night.  To Blair's upraised eyebrow, Jim had only said the old one was so flimsy a gnat could tip it over, making it a fire hazard.   Running a finger over the stone, Blair decided it was typical as well  that Jim would chose something solid and permanent like rock.  It was also very telling - to Blair - that this particular rock was shaped by the long, persistant work of dry, hot desert winds.

   //You'd think by now I'd know the man is more likely to do something like this than to say anything.  What's he going to have to do, put your name on the deed to the loft before you're going to believe he *wants* you here?//

   Blair fiddled with the small table the menorah sat on - which had also mysteriously appeared the day after he had casually mentioned the lit candles were supposed to be on display in a window.  Wishing for a way to let Jim know that he understood without embarassing his partner with the actual words, Blair shook his head, slowly, to himself.

   A large hand brushed over his shoulder, and Blair was startled into looking up and back into the mirrored glass.  Jim's eyes caught his, and what was there was all either needed.   They held it for a minute, then Jim lifted his head and sniffed.  "Are you burning candles or dinner, Sandburg?"

   "My latkes!"
 
 

*...A-sher Kid-sha-nu Be-mitz-vo-tav....*

   "But what do the words *mean,* man," Darryl demanded peevishly, interrupting the medititive state Blair was trying for.

   Patiently, his teacher persona fully engaged, Blair said in English, "Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments and commanded us to kindle the lights of Hanukkah."

   "Then why not just say it?"

   Deliberately, Blair didn't turn, satisfied with watching Darryl and the others in the reflection of the balcony doors.  Letting his thoughts of his mom slip easily from his mind, he reminded himself that being a teenager was about questioning.  "Because all over this planet, no matter what language they use to conduct their daily lives, or what color their skins, Jews are lighting their six candles, saying this exact same prayer, in the exact same way.  So did their mothers, and their grandmothers, and great-grandmothers, and back for thousands of years."

   He turned to look directly at the young man, sparing an understanding glance for the father as he did.  "It's about identity, Darryl."  With a motion he sent them and Jim to the dinner table.  "Who I am, how I came to be that person because of my mother, and her family, and their family before them."

   "Didn't think Naomi was the the type for following tradition, Sandburg."  Simon sat, watching Jim pour the wine for their meal.

   "Not because it was tradition, no." Blair answered the unspoken question.  Handing around the first dish, he went on, "When I was a kid growing up, the two of us would make a menorah out of whatever was at hand.  More often than not, she brought in elements of whatever culture we were in at the time.  One year, it was made from those big, round multi-colored ornaments most people put on a tree.   But it was always a menorah, because, no matter what else I am, even if I choose to think of myself as something else, I *am* Jewish.

   "You might not know this, but to be born Jewish, your *mother* must be Jewish.   It's my special connection to Naomi, outside of the obvious, and I think that's why she always lit the candles.  Not because she gave a darn about what the Macabbeans did, or how many days the oil lasted, but because it was to help me remember that she gave me something that no one else could."

   "Well, if I were Jewish, I'd care how many days there are."  Darryl pipped up, talking around a generous mouthful of dinner.

   Aware that he had the undivided attention of the three adults at the table, he hammed it up, chewing melodramatically.

   "Well, are you going to share with us why, Darryl?" Simon played along.

   "Think about it, Dad.  We only do it once, on Christmas morning.  Blair gets to do it for eight days."

   "Darryl," Simon said warningly.

   "Presents, Dad, presents." Obligingly, the adults moaned.  Before the lecture could begin, Darryl grinned knowingly and singsonged, "It's the spirit of the season, not the gifts.  Yeah, guys, I know, I know."

   Laughing with the rest, Blair thought to himself that the gifts weren't bad, either.  He was already looking forward to using the upgrades Darryl and Simon had installed on his laptop.  He couldn't wait to see the expression on Darryl's face when he saw the tickets he and Jim had gotten him.  And taking Darryl for Simon was his gift to the older man- one Simon would appreciate more when he found out which band the tickets were for.

   Grinning evily, Blair offered Simon more applesauce, and ignored the man's perplexed expression.
 
 

*...Ve-tzi-va-nu Le-had-lik Ner Shel Cha-nu-kah*

   One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.... Lighting the last candle almost reluctantly, Blair completed his ritual.  Not even bothering to try to focus on Naomi, he chose instead to study the image he saw reflected in the glass.  The room behind him was filled with people from both the university and police department - virtually every one he liked and respected.  They were all milling around, trying to be quiet and give him the privacy for his prayers.

   In one corner, leaning on the wall, waiting for the massed attention of the group, was the proposed reason for the gathering: an evergreen tree.   Ryf and Brown were already arguing softly over whether the lights should be put on before or after the ornaments.  Taggart was presiding over the construction of a concoction that was supposed to turn out as egg nog, and Blair's new advisor was handing him ingredients.

   In one corner, Jim was leaning on the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.  Like Blair, he was watching the room.  In a way, this was his gift to Blair, the last for the season.  When Blair had suggested a party, Jim had looked pained, obviously mentally judging the incredible mess, both sensory and physical.   To Blair's neverending surprise Jim had said yes.  It wasn't until people began to arrive that evening that he discovered Jim's ulterior motive.

   Each and every person who had come through the loft door had handed Blair a new pair of gloves, or a warm hat, or some other item of winter wear.  By the time Simon had ostentatiously presented him with a bright red set of thermal long johns, he had an overflowing stack.  He was also laughing so hard he couldn't stand.

   A few chuckles threatened to re-surface, and Blair turned to face the room.  The others took that as their cue to begin their decorating, pulling out boxes and starting a debate over where to put the tree.  With a word here and there, Blair worked his way through the room, laughing and sharing with his friends.

   He reached Jim's corner the same time as Simon, who held out cups for both of his friends.  Slipping between the two bigger men, Blair took his, sipped and nodded appreciatively.   Jim slid his free arm around Blair, held his cup out,  and said softly, "Happy Holidays, Blair.  Simon."

   With a careful klink of glass on glass, Blair and Simon answered, "Happy Holidays, Jim."

   With the warmth of the room filling him, and the solid feel of his friend supporting him, tears tugged at the back of Blair's eyes as he felt/heard Noami murmur, "Happy Hannukah, sweetie."

The End